Page 113 of Wild Omega

With a squeal, I launch myself off the stool and into his embrace.

Rickon staggers back, laughing. “I take it I did good?”

“So good!” I cry, nuzzling into his neck for a hit of butter-loaded vanilla and squeezing him until his ribs pop. “I’ll be able to learn this in no time.”

He kisses my cheek. “I’m glad you’re happy. You get started with that and I’ll order us some food. Then I need to take your measurements. Tomorrow you start horse-riding lessons, and I’ve lined up a voice coach—if you want.”

He pauses, his grip loosening enough so he can peer into my face. “I’m not saying you’re lacking, but some stuff producers specifically ask for and you might need to know how to respond. Diction, intonation, emotion in the voice. Heaven forbid they want a specific accent.” His fingers flex on my upper arms and his brows knit together with worry. “If I’m overstepping, just say the word.”

I lean in and silence him with a kiss. “I get it. You’re my manager, so I trust you. Book whatever you think I need.” It’s true everything I know about acting is self-taught. I might be good at it, but I can always learn more. Now that we’re a family, I can’t let my alpha down, not after he’s put all his eggs in my basket.

Rickon’s face lights up, like no one’s ever said they trusted him before. I resolve to tell him often. Maybe over time we can heal each other’s insecurities.

My alpha pulls away. “Okay, very serious decision to make.”

The intense look in his eye sobers me right up, so I give him my full attention. “Yes?”

He pauses for effect, and then asks, “Chinese or Indian food for dinner?”

I keep a straight face. “Oh, that is serious.”

He smirks. “Life-altering.”

I set my hands on my hips. “But we shouldn’t be frog-marched into just those two options.”

“No, no.” He wags his finger in my face. “If we include other options, we’ll spend all day haggling. And me and you, babe, have lots to do.”

I lean over and lick his finger, just to watch his eyes go wide. “Thai,” I murmur, nibbling on his skin. Never had it, but that’s what Kayla Grants inCrime Scene Squadorders for the team during tough lock-in cases. Always looks delicious.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I can’t win against you, can I?”

I grin unrepentantly. “Glad we got that straightened out up front.”

He laughs, but it turns to a delicious whimper as I suck his digit all the way into my mouth. “Biscuit! Oh, shit, you got me hard all over again.”

That little endearment of his ratchets up the fledgling flames burning in my core. I run my hands up under his shirt. “How long does it take to deliver?”

“About thirty minutes, but I gotta order first.”

“Well, go ahead. Don’t let me stop you. I want one of those coconut soups with noodles in it. And spring rolls.” I slide to my knees and unbuckle his pants.

“Fuck, are you serious?”

I smile slyly and roll his trousers down. “Order, babe. And while you do, I’m gonna listen to my script.”

He stares down at me, blinking furiously. “While we make out?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s a horse-riding scene, isn’t it? May as well practice that too.”

He swears again, and when he dials, I slide his waking cock between my lips. Fuck, he’s big enough down here to choke me, but I like it. I can pull away any time I need to. Rickon groans and leans on the breakfast bar while he restarts the audio in my ears. I chuckle softly as his free hand comes to tangle in my hair. Every time he tries to order, I suck harder, making him gasp into the waiting server’s ear. His fingers tighten and his knees quiver.

I’m quite enjoying my entrée, but the moment he hangs up, he pulls me loose and tugs me over to the couches. The movie scene playing in my ears drowns out his panted complaints. Wild with joy, I push him down and straddle him again.

Time to ride.

I know I boldly told Rickon horse riding can’t be that difficult, but I wonder if I’ll have to eat my words as the Omuber car drives up a lane bordered by fenced paddocks containing horses in all colors. We pull up in front of a barn with a side extension labelled as theofficein big white letters. To the side, a series of wash bays and a feed shed back onto outdoor pens and a round yard. A woman in shiny black boots leads a saddled horse out of the barn and down a path.

“Were horses always that big?” I murmur, tracking the pair’s progress toward an arena set up with colorful jumps.

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